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For the proud chief, in shining mail,
Comes the young orphan, mute and pale;
For the red banner's radiant fold
Some maiden rends her locks of gold;
For the war-steed, with bit of foam,
The image of a desolate home;
While, wandering o'er the ghastly plain,
Some mother seeks her child in vain."
Vow of the Peacock, pp. 7. 36. 42. 77-80.
This finely-drawn contrast, with its vivid, picturesque and mournful scenes, cannot need, even for the superficial, any assistance to point out its merits.
Do you wish to visit distant climes, and breathe beneath summer skies?—the magic of our poet will bear you at once far away, and lead you through the glorious land of Italy, as through familiar haunts, spreading before you its chief wonders of art; or waft you to the gorgeous scenery of the eastern world, and set you amid the "giant temples where fable had its birth;" or land you on the green isles of the southern seas, where breathe around you balmy gales and spicy odours; or, when wearied with change, will conduct you home again, and show you
"How much our England doth outweigh the world!"
Wish you for society?—our poet will introduce you to the sons and daughters of Genius, with whom you may enjoy "the feast of reason and the flow of soul;" or will lead you amid the gay throngs of lighted halls; or, with equal ease, make you feel at home among the green pastures and beside the still waters of domestic life; while, in each of these varied scenes, may you fancy yourself an actual participator, so completely will you seem surrounded with realities.
Would you come into yet closer contact with the spirit of humanity, and learn more of your fellow creatures, with their joys and sorrows, than a
